Essays

My husband, Ty, and I returned after the funeral from North Carolina to Croatia, where we had been cruising on our sailboat. For three days as we traveled south on the Adriatic Sea a yellow butterfly flew in our wake. When I commented to Ty how unusual it was to see a butterfly at sea, the winged visitor approached and flew through the cockpit, directly between us. That evening, while tying up along a sea wall on the island of Mljet, a small swarm of yellow butterflies surrounded our boat, and only our boat.
The next day, while hiking along one of the island's trails, I prayed for some sign from our Susan. I can picture her now, watching us from the Other Side and thinking, "Haven't you noticed all the butterflies I've been sending you?" for suddenly a yellow butterfly approached from my left. It flew a complete circle around me, then bounced into my chest directly at my heart. The butterfly then flew a direct path toward Ty, fifty yards down the trail. Amazed, I shouted to him. He turned to see what I wanted just as the butterfly reached him, flew in a complete circle around him and bounced into his back -- at the exact spot that would have been his heart, if my shouts hadn't caused him to turn around at that precise moment.

Thus ensued my search for answers about life after death. While we can never prove to others that which we can't each experience with our five physical senses, we can know the truth in our hearts. My research has led to a remarkable chain of synchronistic events, including a friendship with the remarkable psychic medium Anne Gehman. The result is my latest book, The Priest and The Medium. While our daughter's passing was the worst possible tragedy for those of us left behind, we thank her for helping to bring to others the comfort of knowing that there is no death.

The week after her death, we noticed several unusual occurrences, such as the television in our hotel room that turned itself on and a brush like a feather against the skin under my shirt. These and other signs left us wondering if our Susan still existed, albeit in spirit. None of the signs were as hard to ignore, however, as the repeated encounters we had that week with yellow butterflies.